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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865397">They First Met in the Arena</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy/pseuds/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy'>CaptainSaltyMuyFancy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Explicit Language, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Mild Gore, Past Sexual Assault, References to Depression, Well...Everybody-ish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:07:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy/pseuds/CaptainSaltyMuyFancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>We do not choose love<br/>It claims each man as it will</p><p>AU in which Nasir is one of Solonius's gladiators</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Agron/Nasir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>No Sound More Glorious: In Which Nasir is One of Solonius’s Gladiators</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They first met in the arena.</p><p>Many miles and years later, Nasir can still feel the whipping sands and hear the roaring crowd and smell the blood and see the blue-green-gray gems set behind the helmet of the man who he now held in his arms, and who held him in turn.</p><p> </p><p>It was the day of Aedile Mercato's munus in honor of his grandfather. Nasir enters the arena to the call of "Tiberius the Traitor--hoplomachus!" by the editor, the preening shit Batiatus who owned the Slayer of Theokoles. Raising his spear like an olympic torch, the roar of the crowd follows his purposeful stride from the gate to the sand's center.</p><p>Once cast into the arena to die <em>ad </em><em>bestia</em> at the opening of the Vulcanalia as punishment for betrayal of his dominus, the former body slave had astounded crowds with his victories over every wild creature sent to take his life, and even the gladiator who followed.</p><p>His first fight against an actual human gladiator was during the games of Senator Titus Calavius. The sting of being one of the first fights of the day was dulled by the roar of the crowd when he triumphed contrary to expectations. When Spartacus and the Undefeated Gaul fought Theokoles later in the day, he discovered why people were so taken with the sport: the blood, the blades, the leaps and kicks and swings, the roar of the crowd. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, even when attending the games with his dominus in the past. He had no words for what moved him, only the rush of victory and the roar of the crowd. The fear he had walking out upon the sands for the first time as a gladiator, his desire to go back to the familiarity of a villa and the civility of house servitude, crumbled away as the the crowd cheered for him. For slight, delicate little Tiberius.</p><p>No. For Nasir. Once, somewhere far from Rome, he had been called Nasir. Nasir, who fought the bigger boys who tried to pick on him, who ran barefoot along the banks of the Orontes, who followed his brother around like a puppy, who screamed and sobbed as the Roman soldiers dragged him from his brother's body along the riverbank, who was degraded at every turn and in every way imaginable but never truly broke, who refused to die for Roman schemes and cruelty.</p><p>When the rains came, he let them wash away the part of him that was Tiberius and carry him to the peace of oblivion until he was needed again, while Nasir carried himself to glory.</p><p>Now he is a favorite in the late morning and early afternoon games, earning glory and coin for himself.</p><p>"And who shall put this this vile viper to rest? Who will set the Traitor in his place? Only a beast can still the heart of a man cursed to die <em>ad </em><em>bestia</em>; Good people of Capua, the house of Batiatus proudly presents the Shadow of the Rhine, Agron--murmillo!"</p><p>The crowd goes berserk, heavy flow of wine combined with afternoon sun and typical arena fanfare turning them into excited dogs about to be thrown a bone.</p><p>A giant of a man emerges from the opposite door, adorn in blue trimmings and freshly-polished armor. He raises his sword to the crowd in greeting, but the slackness of his shoulders betrays discomfort, anxiety, fear, lack of confidence. </p><p>Nasir is well-versed in dealing death to such men; oafs whose skulls are too empty even to overestimate their skill and worth. They fought as caged beasts--the only difference being that the gladiators typically walked on two legs--without strategy or skill, only raw physical strength and the instinct to survive. All fell the same: spear sweeping across feet, kick to legs, tumble, kick to skull, turn and rally crowd, repeat two or three times, then deliver killing blow to the neck for maximum spray. The crowd loved blood sprays.</p><p>If he courts their favor well enough, perhaps one day Nasir would receive the rudis, though it was a long shot even for him.</p><p>"Please," says the giant as the two face off, waiting for the editor to begin the fight, "My brother needs me, I cannot die until he is safe. Do not deal a killing blow, and I will abstain from the same."</p><p>"What?" Nasir laughs.</p><p>"I beg of you, my brother needs me. I will give you an honorable fight, just please do not kill me if you get the chance. I give you my word that I will not kill you, and we can fight until a draw is called. Please."</p><p>All Nasir can do is blink, staring back at this monster of a man with big blue-green-gray eyes boring into him through the visor of his helmet. </p><p>He knows not what to say, but the editor takes the decision from him.</p><p>"Begin!"</p><p> </p><p>The fight was broken into two parts: the first being the last hour before noon, and the second being two more hours after the noonday sun. So evenly matched were they that the editor declared a draw, as no end to the battle was in sight and there needed to be time for the primus.</p><p>Had Nasir been given the opportunity to deal a killing blow, he would not have taken it; there is something about this man, this giant with a talent for battle rivaled by his open vulnerability, his desperation to survive born of love for a brother. Nasir would have let him live for the his sheer novelty alone, but neither of them ever came close to death blows. With Nasir's speed and technique and Agron's size and strength, the two could have battled all day until collapsing from exhaustion.</p><p>"Gratitude," says Agron as they stand in the arena, soaking in the frenzied screams of the crowd.</p><p>"None required, it was a battle well-fought."</p><p>"It was... But I do not think you would have killed me if given choice."</p><p>"I could not bring myself to mar such a form," Nasir deflects.</p><p>Flirtation is safer than admitting to a stranger that he yet has a heart in his chest, waiting to be torn out. </p><p>They are paired in the arena several more times over the coming weeks, each time leading to a draw after hours of battle. Each time, the crowd is captivated by the fight, ensuring both of them live to fight another day.</p><p>After their second fight, Nasir returned to his brothers and basked in their cheers before finding a quiet corner in which to rest. He did not have long.</p><p>"Tiberius," says a voice. Nasir startles out of the cusp of slumber and sees Agron on the other side of the iron partition between cages.</p><p>"Agron?" Nasir knows it is him by his form, the scar over his heart, and his glimmering eyes, but he has never seen the German's face before. He is more handsome than Nasir had imagined him, with distinct yet sloping features, a short-trimmed beard, and a crown of dark brown hair which had been shaven on the sides but worn in a braid of twists and mats on the top, typical of barbarians from east of the Rhine. Agron seems to be taking stock of Nasir as well, almost entranced by his sculpted face and long black hair. "What are you doing here?" Nasir prompts while slinking into a corner out of sight of the other gladiators.</p><p>"I convinced a guard to bring me. I- I wanted to see you. Off the sands."</p><p>"Why?" Nasir giggles out of surprise, but the German must have interpreted it as disdain, for a flicker of hurt dulls his bright eyes.</p><p>"Apologies, I... I just wanted to meet you without having to fight you," he turned to leave, "I will leave you to your rest."</p><p>"No," Nasir nearly panics, shoving his hand through the bars to grab the barbarian's arm, "I did not mean to laugh, I just did not expect to see you here. I- I am glad you came." Agron's bicep is too thick for Nasir to wrap his whole hand around, but he clings to what he can reach and is amazed by the searing heat of the man's tanned skin. Agron is naturally pale, but exposure to the relentless Italic sun has made him appear as though dusted with gold.</p><p>Those eyes--gray in the low yellow torchlight--are set aflame and a boyish grin graces the giant's countenance. "I am glad to hear it." A silence falls between them, strange but not uncomfortable, and only grins are exchanged. It is only when Nasir finally releases Agron's arm that either of them speaks.</p><p>"How long have you been a gladiator?" Agron asks.</p><p>"Less than a year. I was a body slave before this."</p><p>"What is that?"</p><p>"A personal attendant to a dominus or domina. A body slave serves only his dominus and sees to his every need and desire, from food and drink to balancing his finances."</p><p>"You lived his life for him, then?"</p><p>"In many ways, yes. I never left his side and I saw his every whim satisfied..." He did not mean to imply what he did, but he does not correct himself, either.</p><p>"Apologies," says Agron, "A hard existence for any man to bear."</p><p>"In some ways," Nasir shrugs, "Though I had more protection and material comforts than any other slave."</p><p>"Do you yet serve him?"</p><p>"I...do not."</p><p>"Apologies, I did not mean to press."</p><p>"No, all is well. You...are kind to care," Nasir smiles, and it grows as Agron smiles back, "His scheming for political advancement put me in an awkward position, and I had no choice but to betray him to his rival. He sold me to Solonius as a prisoner to be killed in the arena, but I eluded death and was brought to the ludus for training instead."</p><p>"From house slave to gladiator in the course of a single day," Agron marvels, his eyes alight with reverence, "You are truly one of a kind."</p><p>Heat blossoms upon Nasir's cheeks and he casts his gaze down in effort to banish it. "What about you?"</p><p>Nasir learns that Agron has only been a gladiator for barely a handful of months. Captured east of the Rhine with his brother Duro, the two were forced to work in the mines and fight in underground pits until being sent to Capua, where they were purchased by "good" Batiatus. He fought his first match in a true arena several weeks past, alongside his brother. But Duro had faltered and Agron had killed both their opponents. Batiatus ordered them parted, and now Agron's only purpose in life is to survive long enough to purchase his brother's freedom.</p><p>Nasir tells Agron of his own brother, a boy only a few years older than him whose name and face he cannot remember. He remembers very little of their home in Syria. They lived by the Orontes river, where he and his brother and other children would play when chores were done. Their parents, of whom he has no memory of their existence but has memories of his brother speaking of them, had been farmers, he believes.</p><p>He could speak to Agron all day; he is witty, charming, handsome, and fascinated by every word that falls from Nasir's mouth. He knows very little of Rome, Roman culture, and anything outside of the Rhinelands, so Nasir spends much time telling him about Roman society. As a house slave, then a body slave, then the lowest of Solonius's gladiators, Nasir's thoughts have always been of little worth. For this man, this titan to be so honest and open with him, to ask what he has to say and care what the answer is, is a foreign concept to Nasir, yet most welcome.</p><p>When a guard comes to shoo Agron away after what must have been several hours, Nasir's heart breaks. It was likely they would be set to fight each other once again, but only if they both survived to the next match. What if he never saw Agron again, or the next time he did, he would be forced to take his life?</p><p>Agron notices the concern on Nasir's face, and slips what he could of his hand through the bars to cup his cheek. "Until we meet again, Tiberius."</p><p>"Nasir," says the Syrian, his hand coming up to rest upon the German's wrist, "My brother called me Nasir."</p><p> </p><p>It has always been love between them, that much Nasir knows. He does not know when he realized he loves Agron, but he knows it began when the Shadow of the Rhine bared his soul to him in the arena out love for his brother. For Agron, it was when Nasir considered his request, when he could watch the thoughts race within Nasir's skull, considering his plea when he could have easily ignored or laughed at it.</p><p>They tell each other this one afternoon. Agron has fought a late-morning match against a Samnite and Nasir has just returned from his match against a Thraex. Fingers clutch each other through the bars, as they had every time since they met after their second match.</p><p>"You are the most beautiful mortal to ever grace this world," Agron all but whispers.</p><p>Nasir blushes, as he often does when Agron showers him with flattery. In the past, words of flattery from any mouth made his stomach churn and hands tremble for fear of unwanted, indefensible attention from people who assign more humanity to the cats that hunt the mice in their fields than to a pretty slave. But no other has looked at him the way this man has. No other has made his heart beat faster and his cheeks sear. He does not feel disgust when this man gazes upon him and praises his beauty; this man does it in reverence, like a worshipper before a god. He praises his voice, his wit, his skill, his ideas, his smile, his kind heart...everything Nasir never thought of worth, never thought to be anything but luxuries exclusively afforded free men, never thought anyone could ever care enough to look for in him, never thought anyone would ever see the man beneath the fair looks and the slave collar.</p><p>"You flatter."</p><p>"I but speak on what is before me," he rubs Nasir's chin with the pad of his thumb, "And I could speak for days and never say enough." They have been comfortable showing affection for some time now, to the point of craving each other's touch. They have not given words to what they share, perhaps afraid to lest the gods take notice and seek to intervene out of spite. But this has grown too big to keep beneath breast, it is a living tether between them, a creature screaming for attention.</p><p>"Your words..." Nasir struggles with speech for the first time in his life, "They stir heart in ways I never dreamed I could experience. Would that this whole arena fell away and we could run into the hills and never stop."</p><p>"Such has been foremost in my dreams," says Agron, "Since we first broke words, every night I have dreamt of us standing upon a cliff back in my homeland, where Duro and I used to stand sentinel over the river valley while the rest of our tribe slept. But in the dream, when you and I are there, the valley is quiet and there is no one in sight. It is only the two of us and the land. Free."</p><p>"I would give anything to see dream come to life," Nasir whispers.</p><p>"One day," Agron promises, "we will make it so. But this day, I would cherish what we have. Nasir..." he pauses as though sifting through the words in his head, "I love you, Nasir. You are my heart, my soul, and the blood coursing through my veins. I would give you the world and however much of it and me you would have."</p><p>"Agron..." Words cannot be summoned, but he knows his answer, and he will give it one way or another.</p><p>His hand slips through the bars and caresses Agron's cheek, softly at first, until he pulls the towering German down and lips meet through the bars, the taste of sweat, blood, and iron hardly noticeable when they can breathe in the heat of one another.</p><p>"All," Nasir replies breathlessly as they pull apart, beaming so wide his cheeks ache, "Side-by-side in the arena, free in the hills, roaming this world and the one after it: I would live through it all regardless of pain or pleasure, to be by your side. And when we must be parted, every moment shall be but a step on journey back to your arms. I would have all of you, Agron," another kiss, smiles growing ever wider, "All."</p><p> </p><p>For months they meet like this, exchanging kisses and pale shadows of embrace before and after matches. If anyone suspects them of deliberately refraining from killing each other, the displays have been entertaining enough to overlook any questions of genuineness. Each match lasts hours, and the crowds are so enthused and the coin flowing so freely that neither lanista nor editor has desired the matches to turn deadly.</p><p>Duro has survived his first solo match in the arena, albeit only barely. He did not win, but he fought well and lives to fight another day. Though were it not for Agron's tireless training of him in before and after Doctore's lessons, and Nasir's prayers to the gods, Duro may very well have fallen.</p><p>"Nasir," Agron begins one day when they meet, soon after Duro's match.</p><p>"What is it, my love?" the Syrian asks with concern.</p><p>"Promise me you will not fall. I cannot bear the thought of dwelling in this world of suffering without you."</p><p>"Agron..." Nasir wants to lie to him, to tell him he will never fall to any blade while Agron yet draws breath, but he will not. "You know I cannot promise that."</p><p>"Please," Agron begs, voice cracking. </p><p>"Can you promise me the same?" </p><p>Agron looks down; he knows he cannot.</p><p>"I can promise you this," Nasir says, "Whether side-by-side or miles apart, together in this world or waiting for you in the next, I will always be with you," he rests his hand over his German's heart, "You hold my heart. Even if my flesh goes cold and I awaken along the shores of the afterlife, so long as your own heart beats, part of me will live through you, until we are reunited forever. Loss of flesh to kiss and body to embrace will be temporary, but I will always be here," he pats Agron's chest, "inseparable from you forever and always. I promise you I will always be with you, one way or another."</p><p>Matching smiles grow upon their faces as their foreheads meet through the bars.</p><p> </p><p>More months pass. Agron and Duro fight a match against another duo just before the primus at the games with Pompeii, Agron taking care not to make effort to protect Duro. They do not always fight as a pair, only when pairs are requested by an editor and Spartacus and Varro are otherwise occupied.</p><p>Nasir did not fight against Pompeii, as Solonius was not retained to provide any men for the games. His "wares" had fallen out of favor, and rumor in the ludus was that he was considering downsizing his stock and pursuing political office. Nasir was not concerned for himself, as he was one of the main draws of ludus Solonius, but the lessening opportunities to see Agron weighed on him. The rise of Spartacus had far-reaching effects that even Nasir, expert in calculating risk, had not foreseen.</p><p>Spartacus, however, was conspicuously absent from the games with Pompeii. He and Crixus were set to perform an exhibition match for Magistrate Calavius's son Numerius a few days prior to the games. But Oenomaus's wife Melitta caught wind of a plot: a plot by the wife of Spartacus's mortal enemy Legatus Glaber to have Numerius substitute Varro for Crixus, and then force Spartacus to kill his best friend to make him suffer.</p><p>When the day of the exhibition arrived and it was time for he and Varro to fight, Spartacus "accidentally" injured himself on a party decoration during a particularly raucous round of sparring, and let Varro defeat him.</p><p>"A most unexpected outcome," Batiatus had said when Varro is announced the winner, "Champion, how account you for the results of the exhibition this eve?"</p><p>"In effort to provide our editor with befitting display," Spartacus replied, "I overreached in tempering strength while still demonstrating ability, so as to avoid the forbidden infliction of serious wound. I became overconfident and careless," he turned to Numerius, "A lesson to discuss for another time."</p><p>Numerius had beamed at the attention, "A fantastic exhibition regardless! I am even more eager now for next week."</p><p>"Ah yes," Spartacus nodded, "Worry not, Pericles will not be so lucky when he faces the glory of Capua at the games with Pompeii."</p><p>"Ha! Our champion speaks truth! Witness the Bringer of Rain in a few days' time and see the great Titan of Pompeii kneel to a Champion of Capua once and for all!" Batiatus preened as the crowd had applauded.</p><p>But wound sustained was not tended to in time, and became infected. With Spartacus in the throes of a fever, Crixus fought in his place.</p><p>Spartacus was now recovered, but he was not the same. His skill remained, certainly, but there was a darkness about him. Rumor in the ludus baths, according to Agron, was that it had something to do with the death of one of Batiatus's toads in the medicus while Spartacus was under care, but the nature of the relationship could only be guessed. The taking up of patronage by Legatus Glaber over ludus Batiatus only served to exacerbate tensions. </p><p>As Agron details his and Duro's fight and the goings-on at ludus Batiatus to Nasir, Nasir tries with all his strength to provide Agron his full attention. But heart aches beneath the weight of longing for more than the occasional few hours of limited contact. Tears slip from Nasir's eyes. </p><p>"It is cruel beyond words," he says when Agron asks what troubles him, "that when no physical barrier forbids our embrace, we must fight for the Romans' entertainment. Yet when there can be peace between us, we remain separated by bars. This fucking arena should be destroyed for mocking us so."</p><p>"We will be free one day."</p><p>"Would that saying it could make it so."</p><p>Agron bites down on his own lips as if to keep something trapped behind them. "One day."</p><p> </p><p>Nasir is not at the arena when Agron fights it the munus for Magistrate Calavius. All of Solonius's property, his villa, his ludus, his livestock, his house slaves, and his gladiators are seized by the city government following his arrest for Calavius's murder. As Capua decides whether to keep the gladiators as public property or auction them off, Nasir prays to the gods that Agron survives his match.</p><p>Days have passed without indication of Solonius's gladiators' fates, and all Nasir wants is to return to that cursed, mocking arena and feel Agron's fingertips against his again.</p><p>"My, how you brood!" Chadara, a fellow slave from the house of Solonius and one of the only gladiatrices in Capua, teases him one day in the city stocks. They have been there nearly a week, with yet no word on to whom they will be sold, or if they will remain in the municipal stables next to the fucking horses.</p><p>"I do not care for our current predicament."</p><p>"Or perhaps for being parted from your German?"</p><p>Nasir can only sigh heavily through his nose, drawing a giggle from his friend. "Romance is not at the center of all things, Chadara."</p><p>"No, not all. But most." She scoffs when he rolls his eyes, "Bah! You are no fun."</p><p>"No? Perhaps one of the other men will be better conversation?"</p><p>"Ha! They and their soft cocks are even poorer at conversation than they are at fucking." Chadara has 'sampled' most of the gladiators at their ludus who favored women, happily sharing her rankings with Nasir when he arrived at the house of Solonius. Though he had no use of such information, they had been friends ever since.</p><p>"I will take your word for it."</p><p>"And have you <em>taken</em> anything from your German lately?"</p><p>"Chadara!" Nasir whispers.</p><p>"What? It is a legitimate question. Don't look at me so, there is plenty of room between the bars to fit <em>appendages</em>." Nasir blushes and Chadara cackles, "I <em>knew</em> it!"</p><p>"Lower fucking voice, the whole city need not know."</p><p>"Oh stop, they already do."</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"Well rumor has soared since your first match. Some thought that the two of you were holding back because you favored each other."</p><p>"I did not limp off the fucking sands in exhaustion because I held back."</p><p>"People will always talk, even if they know they're wrong. Regardless, y-"</p><p>"Tiberius!" one of the guards barks in front of his cell, "You are summoned."</p><p> </p><p>When news breaks that the house of Batiatus has fallen to its gladiators, Nasir feels he could be sick from worry that his Agron was among those who fell. He has no way of knowing if he lives, and to ask questions about the perpetrators is to be viewed as a sympathizer and punished.</p><p>No, he swears to Aedile Mercato and Magistrate-incumbent Gallienus when brought before them, he was told nothing of a planned uprising at ludus Batiatus. </p><p>"Are you certain?" Gallienus presses, "Rumor abounds that you and the German Agron are...close. It is difficult to believe that he would not tell you anything of their plans."</p><p>"He would not want to burden me with such knowledge, even if he had it..." says Nasir. The Romans exchange skeptical glances. "Had I known their intent, I would have made every effort to talk them out of it," he declares, "I have been a slave most of my life, I know the power of Rome and the futility of disobedience. I would not have wished to see them sign their own death warrants with foolish violence." It is not a lie, but it is not the whole truth either. He knows that Batiatus's gladiators knew the risks when they struck out, and would rather die young and painfully than live whatever remained of what they had to call lives as slaves. He understands why they would take such risk, but it does not make him feel better. "They are fools to do such a thing."</p><p>Mercato and Gallienus seem satisfied with his answer, and release him to his new dominus.</p><p>He trains, he fights, he kills, for many weeks without word from his heart.</p><p>Word of Spartacus attacking now-Praetor Glaber in the marketplace reaches, with word that the Undefeated Gaul made appearance as well, but Agron is not mentioned. He is not as well-known as Spartacus and Crixus, it is possible that he was there but no one recognized him, or perhaps he had been elsewhere at the time.</p><p>Agron will not abandon him. He will come for him. They will be free. One day.</p><p>But weeks turn to months. Villas and slave carts are seized, but only Spartacus's name is ever mentioned. If Agron lived, he would have come for Nasir by now. He would not abandon him if he yet drew breath.</p><p>When Spartacus and his men attack the mines, the news is that all but the Undefeated Gaul, the former champion Oenomaus, and the Roman Varro have fallen.</p><p>Nasir retreats to the cell in his new ludus. The iron door slides shut when he pulls it behind him. The texture of the iron is so familiar, so similar to that which bore witness to hours upon hours of affection between him and-</p><p>Darkness.</p><p>His eyes clamp shut on instinct alone. He cannot work his muscles to do anything. Mind shuts down before grief can shatter it. Again on instinct, his hands pull the coarse blanket from his cot up to his face and sobs into it until darkness swallows him up.</p><p> </p><p>The next day, he is informed that he will compete for the honor of the primus. It means nothing to him until he remembers the primus is an execution: an execution of the three men who lived when his Agron did not.</p><p>Three men who had no greater right to life than Agron.</p><p>Three men who he would happily send to their graves as the Romans had Agron. The only difference being that the three men in the arena would at least get some form of burial. Well Nasir would see them all sent to it. Someone had to pay for this. Someone had to suffer for what was done. This could not go unpunished, he could not bear it. Heart seized at the thought that the Romans who took Agron from him would live as heroes with their families, friends, and lovers, while Nasir's empty body and Agron's restless spirit would be forced to roam this shit world alone. That no one would suffer for Agron's death except those hurt the most by it.</p><p>By living when his Agron did not, these men would be vessels of Nasir's vengeance. Agron's vengeance. It was neither fair nor right, but neither was the gods taking his Agron from him.</p><p>He easily bests all his opponents to earn his spot in the primus, every drop of blood spilled to honor Agron.</p><p>The primus comes, and Nasir waits in line behind Gannicus, a former champion from the house of Batiatus. Perhaps Nasir would see him fall alongside his brothers. Yes, Gannicus and any of the other gladiators who remained standing.</p><p>Blood does not sooth the pain, but at least it is something; something he can do, something over which he has power, something he can offer Agron while he waits for Nasir to come to him, some kind of connection to his Agron to which he can still cling. Anything so he does not have to admit that Agron is truly gone from this world, from his life.</p><p>The former champion Oenomaus begins the primus early by attacking Gannicus. Nasir rushes to attack alongside the other gladiators, all of them barely hold off fighting each other for access to the Gaul and the Roman while Gannicus fights Oenomaus off in the distance. </p><p>Nasir notices that two of the Roman guards are standing unusually close, rather than at the gates. But he writes it off as paranoia over the possibility of Spartacus's men attempting escape.</p><p>He is in a frenzy, his mind once again shut off as a new wave of grief hits him.</p><p>He will never feel Agron's fingers against his.</p><p>Lunge.</p><p>He will never embrace him.</p><p>Swing.</p><p>He will never kiss his lips.</p><p>Slice.</p><p>He will never get his fingers stuck in the mats of his hair.</p><p>Stab.</p><p>He will never feel Agron's forehead against his.</p><p>Kick.</p><p>He will never see those gemstone eyes or his slightly crooked teeth or his immense smile.</p><p>Scream of adrenaline and grief.</p><p>It hurts. It hurts so much.</p><p>So much that he does not notice the sword cutting through his flesh until it pierces muscle.</p><p>Finally the pain is too much.</p><p>He falls to his knees as a calming wave of oblivion washes over him.</p><p>As the darkness swallows him up, he swears he can hear Agron screaming, "NO!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't have the patience or energy to proofread right now so I'm posting this but be advised there are probably a shit-ton of errors. I will go through it later and tidy it up, I just wanted to get it posted.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Agron weeps, clutching Nasir's head to his chest as his life hangs in the balance. The ruined Greek temple at the foot of Vesuvius is not a medicus, and all they have to tend Nasir's wounds are heated blades to seal parted flesh, and herbs and water to treat fever. Everything that could be done to save him was, and all that is left is prayer and hindsight.</p><p>After their escape from the ludus, Agron tried to find to whom Nasir had been sold following Solonius's arrest. But when Naevia had gone missing with Varro, Peirastes,  Oenomaus, Diona, and Tyronius, the rebels spent many days and nights searching for her. The search for Naevia consumed Crixus, and Spartacus was too busy trying to live vicariously through the fucking Gaul to notice the danger in which he was putting their cause, not to mention Agron's own search for Nasir.</p><p>Balancing his obligation to the movement and his search for Nasir was growing more and more difficult, and eventually, drastic measures had to be adopted. For if the movement collapsed, Duro's death would have been in vain, Nasir would never be free, and Rome would once again prove victorious over all who dared defy its whims.</p><p>When he received information that Naevia and the others had been taken to the mines, Agron told that they had all perished. They meant the same thing; attack on the mines would mean certain death for all, and Agron would not risk their movement nor Nasir's freedom for Crixus and Spartacus to make desperate attempt to assuage their own guilt over how their foolish actions harmed the women they loved.</p><p>But the truth came out and Spartacus, naturally, was furious. Agron understood, but he did what had to be done. He would gladly bear the guilt of his lie if it meant hundreds of lives could be saved, Nasir could be free, and Rome could one day feel their wrath. Yet Spartacus, Mira, Crixus, and Crixus's pet Gauls insisted on going to the mines anyway. So Agron broke off from them, joined by everyone else, and made for a safe place to camp at Mount Vesuvius. Word later reached that a few of those who went to the mines had survived, but were in trouble. Since both groups were traveling toward Vesuvius, it was a simple matter to pick up the survivors' trail. Out of the dozens who went to the mines, only Spartacus, Mira, and a gravely-wounded Peirastes yet lived. Crixus, Oenomaus, and Varro had been taken captive, and all the others had fallen before they had even escaped the mines.</p><p>They reached Vesuvius and made camp in an abandoned temple. When the temple's sole inhabitant, a Roman shit named Lucius, told them that another of their group had already arrived, everyone was astounded to find Naevia alive and well. She had taken advice of a Greek priestess while hiding in another temple—the same priestess the rebels had visited while searching for their missing comrades—to hide in an abandoned Greek temple at the foot of Vesuvius. But though their reunion was joyous, Naevia was distraught: Lucius told that Crixus, Oenomaus, and Varoo were set to be executed in the arena, and she thought her lover gone from this world.</p><p>But Spartacus launched plan to rescue them, which went off perfectly until Agron took note of one of the gladiators set to execute the rebels--a gladiator he knew very, very well. Even behind the visor of his helmet, Nasir's eyes burned like charred wood in a hearth: blackened brown, lonely, and weary, yet enough heat to singe any fool who got too close.</p><p>Agron wanted to take him in his arms, sob into his long hair, feel his skin and kiss his lips and tell him he was free now. But to do so would alert the Romans and other gladiators as to Agron and Spartacus's identities, and plan would fall apart. Instead he watched Nasir stride out across the sands not as a warrior, but as an executioner. His usual performative arena fanfare, his cocky gait, his spear raised high, all were but memories now, leaving only a lonely, angry man driven by want of blood in their wake. Agron recognized the anger in Nasir because he had been much the same in the days following Duro's death--mad with grief and rabid with rage. Securing Nasir's freedom was the only thing that kept him somewhat sane.</p><p>Agron tried to stand as close to Nasir as possible in case the Syrian needed help, but to go much closer would have risked discovery. As they waited for fire to consume the arena, Agron became more and more concerned. </p><p>"I begin to question fucking plan," he mumbled to Spartacus. The stadium should have begun to collapse by now, yet all he saw was the smoke from the fire below. The fight was getting more and more intense; Oenomaus and Gannicus were battling fiercely in a far end of the arena, while Crixus and Varro valiantly fended off against the other gladiators, killing two or three of them. Nasir kept them both busy, nicking their limbs with the tip of his spear, toying with them. But the other gladiators were getting in his way, each of them vying for their own glory and their own claim to executing the rebels. While ducking one of his cohorts' shield as the dumb fuck lowered guard to thrust sword at Crixus, Nasir was forced to lower his own shield, leaving a void which was quickly filled by Varro's sword.</p><p>"NO!" Agron screamed. He ran to Nasir as he fell to his knees.</p><p>"Agron!" Spartacus called to him. Agron drew his sword and cut down two of the gladiators in his way before he knelt before Nasir, scooping him up in his arms and holding him close to his chest. His smell. The feel of his skin. The softness of his hair. The way heat rolled off his body. It truly was Nasir. He was home.</p><p>He swallowed hard and looked down at Nasir's injury; it was a nasty puncture wound to the gut, pulsing out blood across Nasir's torso and Agron's hands. Mercifully not in the chest or any vital organ, but still seeping too much blood. </p><p>"No..." Agron sobbed as he tried to cover the wound with his hand and apply pressure. He pulled the cape off the Roman armor he and Spartacus had to wear in order to infiltrate the arena and tore it into strips, which he tied together and wrapped around Nasir's waist, over his wound. One of the gladiators seemed to realize what was going on, for he charged at them with a howl. Agron flung his sword and hit him in the chest. He still had the Roman's dagger and his personal dagger on him, and he could reach Nasir's spear and gladius if needed. He could defend Nasir from the gladiators, it was the Syrian's own body that worried him now.</p><p>Nasir's helmet fell away and his dark eyes came upon Agron. The pain was too much for him to be able to focus his gaze on anything, but his eyes did fall upon Agron. They grew to the size of coins, and a dazed smile of disbelieving bliss spread across his beautiful face despite the pain that gripped him.</p><p>"I am here," Agron assured. Slowly Nasir's head turned downward and he appeared to be looking at the wound, but it did not seem to alarm him. He looked back to Agron and grinned even wider, as though surprised he was still there. He raised a shaking hand up to his German's face, and his lax fingers brushed Agron's cheek and jaw. His eyes burned with wonder, as though his man who abandoned him to slavery and blood for a "cause" had been hand-delivered to him by the gods themselves. <em>Please do not take him. Please let him live and be happy and free, far from this place and all who would chain him. Please, do not take him.</em></p><p>"Please hold on..." he choked out, "Please, stay."</p><p>Finally the stadium at his back roared as it began to collapse, the screams of Romans filling the air as they plunged to the depths of the underworld. Spartacus rushed forward and engaged the gladiators, calling to Agron for assistance. The German responded by throwing the Roman dagger at one of the Roman soldiers trying to intervene in Spartacus's attack on the gladiators, hitting him in the neck. He took down another gladiator by throwing the dagger he brought along, another by throwing Nasir's gladius, and then tripping and stabbing a final one with Nasir's spear. </p><p>Nasir once more loosely caressed his cheek, trying to pull Agron's head down to his. Agron crowned Nasir's forehead with his own and they kissed, lightly yet full of love. Agron's heart broke as he realized that this was the first time he had ever truly held Nasir without Roman iron between them. And on those fucking sands, no less. The Syrian's eyes gently fell shut, never losing his smile or sight of Agron.</p><p>"No, please, hold on. I swear I will never leave you behind again, I swear!" Agron begged. Nasir held his smile but went limp in his arms, his head resting on Agron's shoulder. Nasir's lament that the arena would never let them truly be together threatened to become even more true.</p><p>Spartacus yelled something and motioned for Agron to follow as he, Crixus, Varro, and Gannicus dragging a seriously-wounded Oenomaus along beside him ran toward the arena exit. Agron stood, still clutching Nasir, and followed.</p><p> </p><p>The trek through the arena drains, across Capua, and deep into the forest was a blur. Agron followed the path upon which they came and ran like mad until they reached the temple, where he laid his lover out in a room in which to tend his wound. Lucius tended Oenomaus's wounds in another room, while Camila bossed Agron around. They cleaned the still-bleeding wound, pressed a flame-heated blade atop it to cleanse and seal it, covered the wound with hastily-made poultice, and wrapped a clean bandage around his entire waist. The arena drains were full of human filth, leading to terrible irritation of Nasir's wound and now to the onset of fever. Once wound was tended, he dabbed Nasir's forehead with water to cool him down, cradling him close to his chest with one arm and pressing the washrag with the other.</p><p>He had looked down on Crixus for running off desperately to search for Naevia, putting his thoughtless passions above the cause and failing to even develop a sound plan to find her if she yet lived.</p><p>But he understands now. He understands the apathy, the nihilism, the despair, the madness. </p><p>Nasir had been just a sprint away from him, Agron had finally laid eyes upon his heart again. Yet he remained from his side a little while longer, in hopes that Spartacus's mad plan to bring down the arena would go off without a hitch. Then Varro's blade had parted Nasir's flesh, pulled blood from his limp body. Agron had almost held him in his arms again, and yet now Nasir hovered on the brink of the afterlife. He holds onto the Syrian as tightly as he can, so that if Nasir falls from this world, Agron will tumble with him.</p><p>"Please, let him live. I will give my life, I will give anything you ask, just please do not take him from this world. Please, let him live and be free," he whispers his prayers over and over. He will kill himself if Nasir...if Nasir passes on to the next world ahead of Agron. He will slit wrists and throat and be free of this evil fucking world and this shit life and be with Duro and Nasir forever.</p><p>The gods listen.</p><p>"Agron?" a voice choked with pain and exhaustion wheezes.</p><p>Neither of them are for the afterlife this day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You yet wish to train this fuck?" Crixus snarls as he paces before Nasir days later. Spartacus had called a meeting in one of the temple's inner chambers to discuss what was to be done with the men who had been prepared to kill Crixus, Oenomaus, and Varro. Gannicus was unrepentantly disinterested in any affairs of the cause, but Nasir agreed to meet with them--anything was better than laying in the windowless medicus.</p><p>Spartacus proposes welcoming Nasir into their ranks and continuing his combat training once he is well enough to do so. Oenomaus, impressed with the Syrian's skills in the arena, agrees. Crixus and Varro have other ideas.</p><p>"He was a gladiator, as we once stood; what would you have had him do?" Spartacus beseeches Crixus as the Gaul continues to protest, questioning Nasir's participation in the would-be execution.</p><p>"The boy has known nothing but slavery;" Oenomaus adds, "the strings of such a tether rarely sever themselves."</p><p>"Perhaps never to be so," says Varro from where he sits against a window ledge. His boyish face is shadowed and gaunt, and his voice is both hollow and filled with rage.</p><p>"And if we take his life?" Spartacus demands, "What message does that send to those who wish to join our cause?"</p><p>Agron has his arms wrapped around Nasir's chest from behind, and the Syrian feels his man tense at the question. He knows Agron has a temper and is ferociously protective--it would not take much for the meeting to turn to blood, should he fear for Nasir's safety. Nasir would not see them alienated from the movement by Agron killing some of its leaders, at least not yet, and so he intervenes.</p><p>"You assume you would succeed," the words tumble from his mouth in partial jest. Spartacus smiles and Agron calms, but keeps both arms wrapped snuggly around the Syrian's chest and waist.</p><p>"Big words," says Crixus as he crosses his arms before his chest, "for a crippled boy from the stye of Solonius."</p><p>Varro adds, "It is always the smallest of dogs with the loudest bark."</p><p>"And the proudest of fools who lack sense enough to avoid gnashing teeth," Nasir retorts. Varro stands, fists clenched, but Spartacus claps him on the shoulder before he can move.</p><p>"Varro, Crixus, see to weapons count. I would know depth of our need before we begin acquisition."</p><p>Crixus and Varro roll eyes and take leave, concluding they would be permitted no further input.</p><p>"Then how do you suppose we train this wild little dog?" teases Agron before gently nibbling at Nasir's neck with his jagged barbarian teeth. Nasir cannot help but snort in laughter, giddy from having constant, unfettered access to his man. He has been in Agron's arms more in the last few days than the entire year he has known him, and only longs for more.</p><p>"As Batiatus had Doctore train me," says Spartacus simply, nodding at Oenomaus. Oenomaus only smirks.</p><p>Agron snorts against Nasir's neck, "And that turned out so well."</p><p> </p><p>Recovery is a maddening thing, having to sit idle for the first time in his entire life. Nasir has had hard physical training all day every day for more than a year now, and for it to stop so suddenly while he heals is unnerving. He feels always bloated, and fidgets constantly.</p><p>He spends his time going over captured documents, reviewing maps, strategizing over the next villa to take or wagon to attack, debating how to recruit more to their cause and how to keep their location hidden, building and repairing weapons and materiel, studying and administering medical care, and even training as his wound slowly heals.</p><p>Mornings begin with a large meal, served in shifts to accommodate the duties and sheer size of their group. Then the warriors train until midday sun, and meal is served. Most tasks pause until day's heat passes, then resume until after sunset. Nasir falls into the new routine soon enough, as the days pass into a full week, which turns into two and presses toward three. He makes friends among most of the rebels, who appreciate his mild nature, good humor, and strong work ethic. He speaks most with gladiators Spartacus, Lydon, Fulco, Rabanus, Pollux, Donar, Ortius, the Veteran, Litaviccus, Dagan, Hamilcar, Tyronius, and Leviticus, as they were more friendly to him at first by virtue of being friends of Agron. But Nasir also befriends former house slaves, as his past rank among them is no secret to anyone; Naevia, Spartacus’s lover Mira, Flavia, Aria, Santos, Oenomaus's wife Melitta, Iothia, Vitus, Diona, Lysandros, and Pyrrhus, all former house slaves (in Naevia, Melitta, and Santos's case, body slaves) of the house of Batiatus, bonded over shared experience as well.</p><p>But not all in the camp trust him. Some of the other gladiators are suspicious or skeptical of him, especially the closest allies of Varro and Crixus: partly for being Syrian, partly for his intent to kill their brothers, partly for his size and form, partly because few of them had ever seen him fight, and perhaps most of all because he used to be a house slave. The last fragment of his old self, the piece of him that will be forever scarred by domestic slavery, feels the urge to correct them and say he was a <em>body</em> slave, but that would only make things worse. So when he overhears whispers or even open taunts, he says nothing.</p><p>Until one day, when one of the gladiators goes too far. Spartacus, Agron, Ortius, Rabanus, and Donar are gone from the temple, hunting game and scouting the land for escape routes if--or when--the Romans locate them. Oenomaus grows restless as his arena wounds heal, and has gone with them for fresh air and movement.</p><p>Varro and Crixus are left in charge in Spartacus's and Oenomaus's absence, making for tensions whenever Nasir finds himself within their sights. So he takes care to stay out of them, analyzing documents and maps with Melitta inside the temple, picking herbs outside the temple walls with Mira and Flavia, lightly sparring with Chadara or Naevia, and aiding Medicus in delivering care.</p><p>As the sun sets, and without Spartacus and Oenomaus there to scold or forbid, the rebels take to drinking. Nasir's watch on the guard wall ends just as the men begin to get obnoxious (or more so than without drink), and he takes care to stay out of their sight. Of course, despite his best efforts, he is noticed when Varro bumps into him while stumbling around the courtyard.</p><p>"Apologies," says Nasir casually, intent to keep moving. Varro’s dark mood has only worsened in the few weeks since he and Nasir last broke words in Spartacus's meeting, and he has taken to drinking heavily; Nasir would not test his temper.</p><p>Though Spartacus claims Varro was once light-hearted as a child, brimming with love for his family and a good friend to his brothers, the Roman is now all but a shade haunting the camp. He scarcely tends to chores around the temple, breaks few words, and communicates mostly in frowns, glares, grunts, and growls. His responsibility used to lie mostly in "acquisition", or attacking cargo wagons, seizing the goods, and killing the Romans escorting them. Killing is the only thing Varro cares about anymore—so much so that he has ceased caring about whose life he takes. During the last wagon raid, Pollux—who had been raid leader that day—had pulled Spartacus aside and whispered grimly, their eyes drawn to Varro. Later gossip told that Varro had butchered a family of Greek pilgrims on their way to Cumae, but it was never confirmed. When time for the next wagon raid came, Spartacus went in Varro’s place and ordered him to stay behind, supposedly to help Crixus lead. Being left behind has put him in an even worse mood, and the wine is not helping.</p><p>"Fuck you," Varro slurs in a half-hearted imitation of Nasir’s tone.</p><p>Nasir rolls his eyes and makes for the temple steps.</p><p>"Do not turn back on me, you fucking cock-suck!"</p><p>The gladiators' reverie begins to sober at the interruption, but Nasir can only laugh.</p><p>"You fucking laugh?" Varro demands.</p><p>“Fall to bed, Varro," Nasir dismisses him.</p><p>”As you should have fallen to my blade in the arena,” Varro barely pushes the words out from a mouth clumsy with heavy drink. A few of his friends chuckle, but most of the gladiators appear uneasy.</p><p>"Get Crixus," someone whispers, perhaps Litaviccus.</p><p>"Yes, get Crixus!" Varro bellows, "Let him join the fes- festilv- festivulies! If he is not too taken up with his <em>woman</em>."</p><p>Crixus is indeed with ‘his woman’, but to his credit, they are taking inventory of food stores.</p><p>"What luxury it must be, to have one so loved at your side, stealing breath of those more deserving! Does the German's woman go to hide in temple's safety as well, then?"</p><p>More uproarious laughter from Varro's allies.</p><p>Nasir stiffens, but keeps his pride in check. ”As you say, Varro." He turns once more to make for the temple.</p><p>Varro throws his empty amphora to the ground and it shatters at Nasir's feet.</p><p>"It should have been YOU upon cross in market square!" Varro screams, "You and Naevia, prized above all others-"</p><p>“Market square? What are you-?” Nasir tries to ask, but Varro’s brothers interrupt him.</p><p>"Take rest, Varro," Litaviccus says with a brotherly clap on the back.</p><p>"The only thing I'll <em>take</em> is the life of that German shit's bitch!"</p><p>Nasir again responds with a laugh. <em>I have killed many a better man than you</em>, he is about to say, <em>Press further and join them</em>. But he does not get the chance to speak, as the dispute races out of control like wine from unconscious Leviticus's overturned amphora.</p><p>"Enough, Varro," says Hamilcar, standing up from his seat on the portico ledge, "Nasir is of the Brotherhood. We all owe him respect."</p><p>Hamilcar was a good friend of Duro, Agron’s brother. He blames himself for his friend’s death at Roman hands, and seems to have taken it upon himself to protect what he considers Duro’s family as penance.</p><p>"<em>You</em> are of fine pus- ‘ition to lecture <em>me</em> on the Brotherhood, <em>Hamilcraw</em>, who hasn't won a match in his life!" Varro wobbles between slurring and cackling as unsteadily as he does between his feet.</p><p>"I held my own in four matches, and lasted far longer than you would have,” says Hamilcar casually, “had Spartacus not been there to hold your cock for you."</p><p>Crixus storms out of the temple just as Varro lunges, and grabs the Roman about the chest as they almost collide.</p><p>”What is the fucking meaning of this?!” the Gaul roars as Varro impishly fights against restraint.</p><p>”The fucking Roman stirs quarrels absent cause,” says Fulco. The Celt is one of a few among the Brotherhood whose longstanding hatred of Romans would not let him befriend the man. He does not mind Narto because he was a peasant before he became a gladiator, but Varro spent too much time with the middle and upper classes, too much money betting on games of blood for Fulco to trust him.</p><p>”He is of the Brotherhood!” Priscus shouts.</p><p>”He is a fucking Roman,” retorts Fulco with a shrug, pulling the amphora from Priscus’s grasp and taking a heavy swig of wine.</p><p>"So good of you to jer- join us, C'Rixus," Varro drawls.</p><p>"No one received permission to fall to drink and leisure!" Crixus scolds the crowd as he lets Varro slump to the ground, "Return amphorae to storage and fall to bed, you drunken shits!"</p><p>The Gauls move on his orders as though shouted by Jupiter himself, but many of the other gladiators exchange skeptical glances. </p><p>"I said move!" Crixus yells to them. </p><p>"Get fucked," Dagan spits out.</p><p>Crixus's eyes narrow and he stalks over to the Syrian, who now stares down with defiance and resentment in his one good eye. The two of them arrived at the ludus around the same time and had become friends as they trained together, but Crixus’s meteoric rise turned him against his former friends. Things have been bitter between them ever since.</p><p>”You are far braver when taken with drink, you fucking Syrian,” Crixus sneers, “Fall to bed and let night see you sober, or else never rise again.”</p><p>They nearly come to blows, but a sob diverts their attention.</p><p>”Aurelia...” Varro calls out.</p><p>Crixus and Nasir both turn their attention to the interruption and sigh at the sight before them: Varro upon the dirt floor of the temple's courtyard, his arms held loosely at his chest, curled into a half-ball position, chin smeared with wine and vomit, nose leaking mucus, eye spilling fat tears, whimpering to someone only he can see. </p><p>“Apologies,” he whispers, “Apologies, apologies, apologies-" he repeats over and over until the consonants trip over each other and become jumbled.</p><p>"Spartacus will be disappointed to see you so," Crixus admonishes his brother gently as he kneels down to his level.</p><p>"We should bring him to his mat," says Nasir, "He can rest and come back to himself."</p><p>Crixus eyes him suspiciously for several seconds, but nods and slips an arm around Varro’s torso. Nasir takes his feet, and does not allow himself to wince when the act of carrying Varro agitates his wound.</p><p>They drop Varro off at his mat and lay him face-down. He has wept himself to sleep during the journey, and most of his brothers have followed them inside to fall to their own mats. It is quiet as Nasir and Crixus leave Varro to a drunken dreamless sleep, and the only sound Nasir hears is,</p><p>“Nasir...” says Crixus sheepishly as they return to the portico, “...You would not have had to do that. Especially considering your wound came by Varro’s hand.”</p><p>Nasir nods. Perhaps Crixus wants an explanation: why did you show him compassion, why did you help him, have I truly misjudged you so deeply, do you expect something in return? But Nasir has done his charity for the evening.</p><p>”It is of no matter.”</p><p>Crixus pauses as though trying to understand, then nods and claps Nasir’s shoulder. He turns back to the courtyard, where Fulco, Lydon, Pollux, Dagan, Narto, Gannicus, Hamilcar and Tyronius are still standing in the courtyard, chatting and laughing. Leviticus remains asleep in the dirt, though someone has been kind enough to lay him down and roll him over onto his front in case he wakes with sour stomach.</p><p>”I <em>said</em> you fucks were to stow festivities and fall to rest,” Crixus hisses.</p><p>Gannicus looks down in guilt, but the others ignore the Gaul.</p><p>”I <b>said</b> move fucking ass!” Crixus yells.</p><p>The gladiators ignore him or roll their eyes, except Fulco.</p><p>”Or what?” the Celt challenges as he turns lazily to face the approaching Crixus.</p><p>”Or find yourself once more tasked with scrubbing the baths,” says Spartacus as he and the others trail through the gate.</p><p>Oenomaus says something scornful as well, but Nasir does not hear. Instead he beams as Agron seeks him out, and they meet in the middle with a kiss. Nasir thinks of all the times he has laid eyes on his German, always in the arena, always to shed blood, always as slaves, always with the intoxicating feeling of love being coated in a film of despair. But the film has washed away, and now when he sees Agron, it is as free men.</p><p>Fulco—no doubt determined to never again be forced to scrub the camp baths as punishment for unruliness—rolls his eyes but obeys while the others follow, grumbling. They are free men, killers, fallen gods of the arena, half-stripped of soul. Yet they are not impudent or foolhardy enough to test the patience of both Spartacus and Oenomaus. Or Melitta.</p><p>”And clean that up,” Melitta tells Fulco regarding Varro’s broken amphora as she makes her way to her husband.</p><p>Fulco could refuse, could say that the drunken Roman fuck can clean up his own messes. But he sighs and scoops the shards into his hands, to throw on the rubbish pile. He will not be the one to lower Varro in Spartacus’s eyes tonight. Crixus and Nasir spare the Celt a discrete nod, which he acknowledges with one of his own.</p><p>Spartacus meets Crixus where he stands in the courtyard and claps his shoulder.</p><p>”The temple yet stands, as do at least some of its inhabitants.”</p><p>”Apologies,” says Crixus, “They fell to drink while I took stores with Naevia, I did not know until- until Varro informed me.”</p><p>”Worry not, you handled situation well, and cannot be faulted for irresponsibility of grown men.”</p><p>Nasir sees Agron roll his eyes at Spartacus’s compliments for the Gaul, and squeezes the German’s side playfully to wipe the frown from his brow.</p><p>“Nasir... Gratitude for aid,” says Crixus as he makes his way over to the Syrian, offering Nasir his hand, “Brother.”</p><p>Nasir accepts the offer and they shake forearms in the style of the Brotherhood.</p><p>When Nasir and Agron retire to their mat, Agron chuckles, marveling, “Earning the Fucking Gaul’s respect in a matter of weeks. You will never cease to amaze me.”</p><p>”I would hope so,” says Nasir as he lays his man’s chest, “I would not have you become bored with me.”</p><p>”Boredom is a privilege,” Agron grunts as he stretches out upon their mat. His left arm settles around Nasir’s shoulders and his hand tangles in his hair. “as are all things, when I hold you in my arms.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A shade is a spirit or bodiless version of a person who has died, but not passed on to the afterlife. Though sometimes it seems like it's used as another word for a ghost.</p><p>The Sybil was a priestess of Apollo who lived in a cave system in Cumae (modern Cuma), the first Greek colony on the Italic peninsula. She features in both Greek and Roman mythology, and has an important role in the Aeneid. It was more of a position than an actual person, but I'm guessing that's where the idea for the character Sybil came from for the show. Cumae is on the Campanian coast (close to the Amalfi coast, actually), north of Neapolis/modern Naples and south west from Capua/modern Santa Maria Capua Vetere. It used to be a big deal because of the Sybil, so there would be pilgrims and such traveling there often.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I didn't spend a lot of time on Nasir's time as a gladiator under Solonius because I got excited about the overarching plot, but I'm hoping to do more with this AU, particularly looking at Nasir's life in the ludus, his interactions with Solonius, and how that got Nasir involved in a lot of the shenanigans of season one. Because I don't have enough WIPs already (/sarcasm).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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